Strong Enough
by Roxy206
Summary: A particularly difficult case catches up to Olivia. Is Elliot what she needs to deal with her emotions? Season eight, sometime after the Sennet case. God, I feel like hell tonight / Tears of rage I cannot fight / I’d be the last to help you understan


The case had been grueling and the trial was proving to be even more trying. I sat in the court room listening to accusations flying left and right. Our young victim was strong, stronger than she should have to be. As I sat in the witness stand I kept stealing glances at her. The long hair I had seen her wear in braids lay over her shoulder, kept out of her face with a thin headband. Her usual jeans and t-shirt had been replaced with a modest sweater and pair of trousers. Her attire made her appear older – or maybe it was the look in her eyes. Listening to my description of the crime scene she seemed unaffected. It was when I described her rapist that I saw a crack in her facade.

I returned to my seat, exhausted from the ordeal. Every single case I have ever worked has been difficult, but the cases involving children and young adults have always taken more out of me. I don't think there's a way to get used to the loss of trust and innocence that the survivor experiences. While I was still showing the same calm, focused exterior I had on the stand, my thoughts and emotions were anything but. I sat with my back straight, my head held high. My breathing was even and if I had been asked to speak, my voice would have been strong and clear. These were things I could control, but I couldn't detach myself from this case; it had taken over my being. Even when I was working other cases, this one was always present in my mind.

He was sitting next to me and I knew he could sense the shift in my mood. His index finger barely brushed against my hand, causing me to look over at him. Our eyes met and he held my gaze. The color of his eyes had taken on a tint of gray, the way they did when he was serious. As he looked at me, his expression softened. My eyes flickered from side to side, all the while maintaining eye contact with him. I let out an internal sigh. There was no point in trying to hide the emotion set deep in my features. Others might be able to make an educated guess, but he was the only one who could read my eyes. They constantly betrayed me, each time letting him in closer than I ever wanted to let him.

My attention was drawn back to the court proceedings when the judge asked the foreman if the jury had reached a verdict. The court was in an uproar. Those sitting on the defendant's side were overjoyed. They were hugging each other and the defendant. How could this have happened? The evidence, the facts, they were all against him. Yet somehow the jury found that bastard not guilty on any count.

Son of a bitch.

Before I knew what I was doing, the courtroom door shut behind me. I ran out of the building, my breathing labored. My body was used to the physical exertion of running, but it never got used to holding back tears. I heard him calling my name, but I didn't stop. If anything, I picked up my pace. The crowded New York streets provided many obstacles, but thankfully none of them got in my way.

By the time I reached my apartment it felt like I was breathing under water. I slammed the door and lost it. I shed my coat, flung it across the room. A water glass that had been sitting on the end table fell to the floor, the sound providing some satisfaction. The anger rose within me and I wanted to destroy everything in the apartment. But I was exhausted. I didn't have the energy to make it past the inside of the door. Cupping my face in my hands, I felt the hot tears slide through my fingers. There was nothing I could do to stop them. All I could do was hope that they would provide the release I needed.

~~~~~

I tried taking a shower to relieve the tension in my body. Just as crying hadn't provided the release I needed, the shower hadn't done anything for the tension. My eyes were still puffy, but what the hell did it matter? I pushed away from the mirror and walked into the bedroom, my head cloudy with thoughts. I threw on the first things I found, not bothering to make a conscious decision. The one thing I did want was the gray hoodie. The one I constantly stole from Elliot, yet that always seemed to make its way back to him. I pushed things around in my drawers, but it was useless. Damn it. I really wanted to wear that hoodie. I thought about heading to the 1-6 to look for it, but there was no way I'd be able to slip in and out unnoticed. The captain or Munch and Fin would be there, they'd want to know how court went. If I was lucky, Elliot would have gone in and already told them, but then I'd have to deal with him looking at me, seeing what I tried to hide from even myself.

The phone rang. I let the machine pick up, not bothering to turn up the volume so I could hear who was calling. I knew who it was without caller ID or voice mail. I went back into the bathroom to check if the hoodie was in the hamper. No such luck.

I heard a knock on the door and knew there was only one person it could be. I hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of letting him in, but went to open the door. He really must have been reading my mind, because he stood there wearing the hoodie.

I leaned my hip against the door frame and crossed my arms. "I've been looking for that," I told him straightforward. My eyes drifted down to the half unzipped sweatshirt, a white undershirt peeking out from underneath.

"You know, you really need to get your own," he said, but he handed it to me as I shifted to let him in. Briefly I closed my eyes to take in his smell. The scent was stronger than usual and I could feel his warmth. The first time I had stolen the hoodie, the squad room had been so freezing I couldn't cope without something around me. I had slipped it on and found myself warm not only with the heft of the fabric, but with thoughts of him. It had become a sort of lifeline. Even when he was being an ass or working on another case, I could put on the hoodie and immediately feel connected to him. When I opened my eyes he was staring at me.

"Liv," he whispered, his eyes full of concern. It was rare that I caught this expression directed at me, but when I did it hit me with full force.

"El," I whispered back, taking a step closer to him, taking in his strength as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Are you okay?" He ran the pad of his thumb across my cheek which was still red.

Normally there wasn't anyone to hide from. After a tough case I would come home to an empty apartment, no one there to ask me me how my day was or what was wrong. But El understood. He had been there, gone through all the frustrations of the case. Of most cases. He might not have been as attached to this particular case as I was, but he knew.

My silence was more than enough of an answer for him. He led me over to the couch and I let him. I gave him a small smile when he brought me tea, the cup warm in my hands, his fingers brushing against mine. That same index finger had lightly touched my hand in the court room. Those same eyes that held mine earlier, except there was no tint of gray this time. They were all blue: a warm, inviting blue.

It was comforting to have him there. For once he was there after a case, instead of just the hoodie. Maybe it was natural that we sought each other out. We could recognize when the other needed someone. Even when he was still with Kathy, he couldn't talk to her about work. There were times in the past when we had tried this – coming to each other – but it hadn't worked. I wouldn't let him in. He would call or stand outside my door, but I wouldn't let him in. Now, here he was sitting next to me.

So much had changed. Since the separation. Since I had gone undercover. Since I had come back. We weren't the same people who started out as partners, joking and innocently flirting. Over the years things had gotten complicated. Maybe they didn't have to be.

We sat in silence as I drank my tea. I concentrated on the sound of the clock in the hallway, wondering what time it was. I shifted my knees back and forth, just as I had done sitting on his steps that night after the Sennet case. His hand rested on my knee, stopping the movement. I looked over at him, peering through a sheet of my wavy hair.

"He's guilty." It was a simple statement, one I made more for myself than for him.

"I know," he replied.

"He's guilty and he got away with it. She deserves better than that, she deserves justice. How is she going to be able to put this behind her?"

"The same way she would've even if he'd been found guilty. She'll have to work with a counselor. Talk to someone she trusts." His voice was soft and the words left his mouth slowly. Occasionally I would overhear him talking to one of his kids on the phone in the same manner.

"She's just so young."

"She'll be okay."

"Sometimes ... sometimes I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I."

His hand was still resting on my knee and he gave it a gentle squeeze. I wasn't cold, but I pulled the hoodie closer to my body. It seemed that years of moving away from each other could be reversed in an instant. There had been moments where I felt like things between us were getting back to normal, but then another wall would go up. Now those walls were being broken down and then some. My breathing slowed as his face drew closer to mine. It was a moment I had been anticipating, yet it still caught me off guard. His lips were against mine, soft and gentle. My eyes closed and I let go of the thoughts which had been plaguing me. Instead, I concentrated on Elliot. He pulled his lips back from mine and rested them on my forehead.

"Elliot," I mumbled, searching for his lips again.


End file.
